


Your Favorite

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Chocolat (2000), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Fingering, Antisemitism, Child Abuse, Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Food Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Canon Magic, Infatuation, Irish Original Percival Graves, Jewish Character, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Multi, Racism, Slow Burn, Weddings, Wet Dream, Xenophobia, evidence of, so much food porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: Credence Barebone grows up miserable in a small, close-minded town, until a pair of sisters bring a bit of sweet-flavored change.That Irishman who lives on the river might make life even sweeter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit late to the party, but here's my contribution to the d*pp replacement challenge; inspired by Chocolat (2000)
> 
> I've kept the 1950s setting, but with no specific location in mind.
> 
> I should give fair warning that Mary-Lou is particularly foul in this first chapter; one racial slur is used twice, and some offensive antisemitic statements are made. It shouldn't need to be said that I don't hold these views at all, but these days it's better to be safe.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Once upon a time, there was a small, quiet town of drab arrangement, whose people believed in Tranquility._

 

_If you lived in this town, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place, and if you should happen to forget, someone would remind you._

 

_If you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you looked the other way._

 

_If, by chance, your hopes had been disappointed, you learned quickly never to ask for more._

 

_Through the best and worst of times, the community held fast to the way of things as they always had been, scorning the possibility of change._

 

_Until one winter day, when a playful breeze drifted in from the north…_

 

*

 

The old pastry shop had been closed up for years, a few slats of wood shuttering the door and the letters faded above the awning. Credence had no memory of so much as a light gleaming through the windows, but now, suddenly, the glass panes were sparkling, rich purple drapes pulled back, and behind the window – 

 

Modesty gasped and clutched his hand as they rounded the corner, echoing the sentiments of every other wide-eyed child playing on the sidewalk.

 

Credence and his eight year-old sister were as different as it was possible to be from the others, but no child, however strictly brought up, could be expected to resist a bounty of chocolate.

 

And what a bounty! – thick slabs of milk, white, dark chocolate, walnuts and pecans and candied fruits studding their surface like gems. Tiered chocolate cakes trimmed with chocolate roses. Bombes and nougats and truffles stood heaped in piles, sugar dusted or wrapped in shimmery foil. Fishes and lambs and birds molded from shining dark chocolate. Two fountains bubbled at each window corner, running thick with smooth ganache, while at the very center a little chocolate ballet dancer, her fluttering skirts made from wisps of spun sugar, actually turned slowly on a gold dusted music box.

 

His throat suddenly very dry, Credence tugged at Modesty’s arm in a futile attempt to draw her back towards the court house – Ma would be due from her visit with the Mayor at any moment, and any distraction was more of a risk than he was willing to take.

 

She whined in protest, breaking away and dashing down the sidewalk, clearly intent on joining the gaggle of little ones crowded round the window, their faces pressed hot and sticky to the glass.

 

It wasn’t clear if she stumbled, or slipped on the patch of melting snow near the doorway.

Credence didn’t attempt to fool himself though, as he scuttled after her, heart in his throat. She’d been pushed, of course – neither of the Barebone children were ever exactly popular with their school fellows.

 

Modesty’s knit stocking was torn at the knee, blood seeping through to stain the wool. Both brother and sister were pale, and Modesty began to whimper, half in pain and half in dread of what might be facing them later.

 

She didn’t have to worry so much, Credence thought to himself resignedly. It wasn’t as if Ma would blame her for the incident, she hardly ever did. And just as well, when he was taller and older and could take it…

 

“Oh no, ‘re you alright honey?” a pretty voice suddenly chirped anxiously overhead, and it took Credence less than a moment to realize that the pink satin heels beside them on the pavement certainly didn’t belong to any of the townspeople that his mother allowed them to associate with.

Modesty had been herded into the little shop before he could protest, and her skinned knee quickly hidden under a flesh colored bandage. 

“Here, we’ll fold them up high so it won’t show –“ the satin-clad owner of this decadent wonderland was assuring the little girl, who sat sniffling on one of the gilded barstools by the glass display counter while her stocking was pulled back over the dressing.

“- I’ll bet they’ll be wearing them just like this in Paris next month.” 

Her mouth pulled tight between her teeth, Modesty finally spoke, with her voice shy as a mouse’s.

“’Stings.”

The lady hissed in sympathy, before scurrying behind the counter, her honey-gold curls bouncing lightly with each step.

“Why don’t you try one of these, honey?” she offered, bringing over a china vase apparently full of pink rosebuds – but sugar glaze melted over Modesty’s fingertips when she tentatively poked at one petal.

“Strawberry roses, they’re your favorite.”

Credence would have liked to ask how she was so certain, but his sense of self-preservation remained firm.

“No, I – I’m sure it’s expensive, we can’t waste money –“ 

It might have been rude, but no all-too brief indulgence would be worth the punishment that would come when Ma made them submit to the nightly inspection, searching their clothes and sniffing their hair…

“It’s been nice to meet you, Miss…”

“It’s Miss Goldstein, but please, call me Bathsheba-!”

A stone dropped into Credence’s belly. Ma would kill him for certain, it was only a matter of how. His life wouldn’t be worth the thin gruel he lived on, after allowing the youngest member of the family anywhere near a… a… one of those people.

Ma’s names for them were nasty enough to leave a sour flavor under his tongue.

“E-excuse us, we – we have to –“ he mumbled, backing quickly out of the shop and pulling a protesting Modesty with him; quickly enough that they almost collided into a rotund man with a black mustache who seemed to be on the verge of stepping inside, his grey coveralls proclaiming him as an employee of the nearby canning factory.

“Oh- s-sorry, sir –“

“No worries…”

They had rounded the corner by the time he crossed the threshold, hands in pockets, looking back over his shoulder in vague frustration and concern.

“Poor kids…” he muttered, to no one in particular. “I’ve seen kicked dogs with more life in them.”

“Well, it’s never easy being different.” 

As if surprised to hear someone speaking to him, he turned and actually took in the sight of her for the first time. His jaw slackened, all thoughts of the Barebone family escaping like birds from an opened cage.

She would be the one to know, he concluded once normal thought process had returned. Femininity didn’t exist to the locals, not by any normal definition. She was as different from the flat-shoed, eye-averted women who hurried up and down the streets everyday as a sparrow from a bird of paradise.

If she noticed him staring too long, she didn’t give any sign of it – besides perhaps a lip-bitten smile.

“Like anything you see?”

He snapped free of the trance just in time to avoid embarrassing himself.

“I, um- sorry, I was, uh, I was just passin’, and – this, this was my grandma’s old place, just surprised to see someone fixed it up after so long –“

The new owner mewed sympathetically.

“Oh honey – I hope we haven’t, y’know –“

He jumped at the chance to reassure her.

“Nah, don’t get me wrong, I love it, it’s – God, it smells so good in here… gotta be better than smelling canned mushrooms all day, I guess…” he paused, suddenly realizing how bizarrely revolting that statement must have sounded, and blushed a vibrant red.

To his shock, she giggled helplessly without a hint of malice, and he managed to crack a smile in return.

“Uh, it’s Kowalski – Jacob Kowalski.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, his face warming, much more agreeably than before. 

“Bathsheba Goldstein!”

“Bat- wasn’t she a queen or somethin’?” 

She noticed the teasing glint in his eye, and seemed to squirm in delight – a reaction that Jacob, to say the least, was not accustomed to inspiring in women, and particularly not one like this.

“Aren’t you the sweetest-! Cocoa with clotted cream, that’s what you want!”

A coffee mug seemingly full of melted chocolate and crowned with thick fluff was pushed into his hands before he could protest that he didn’t have the money for –

“Samples are on the house, honey.” Bathsheba nodded expectantly towards the cup, and after all, he decided, it was only polite, she was so… and it smelled _so good_ …

He took a sip.

What he tasted, exactly, would be difficult to describe – though the heat wasn’t dissimilar to the sensations when Babci took the kołacz fresh from the stove pipe oven, flaky and stumpy in her crooked baking pan, the one she complained about because all the dough would pool on one side, but he liked best for the thicker pastry it produced, light and buttery and stuffed with cream cheese and rasins, and Babci would shake her head, laughing throatily, her starched petticoats rustling on the floorboards while Dziadzia scattered poppy seeds to the pigeons in their little coop outside the kitchen door…

Jacob glanced up from the steaming cocoa in a haze of half-forgotten delight.

“Jeez… I-I love it, gosh – how’d you know I’d-“

She grinned, squinting adorably, and avoiding his gaze. Her fingers played with a bit of gilded ribbon from the wrapping wheel.

“You’d never believe me if I told you.”

 

*

 

 

Credence had managed to put the little chocolate shop out of his mind for two weeks, until it seemed like one of those barely cognizant dreams he almost remembered when he woke up, fantasies that he was afraid to admit might be memories.

But like most of his worst transgressions, the return visit was for the sake of his sister.

He was certain she hadn’t meant to be obstinate, which was Ma’s word for it – she simply had a habit of disappearing into her own imagination at times and becoming insensate to the world around her, in a fashion that Credence envied terribly. But it meant she didn’t always come when called.

The blisters hadn’t faded yet from the soles of her feet (“Maybe it will remind you to step more quickly.” Ma had told her while she was pulling her shoes and socks back on, whimpering behind tight lips.) When one of them had burst the night before, she’d sat quite still on the sink counter, obviously struggling not to dissolve into tears of pain and risk waking their mother while Credence washed off the torn skin as best he could.

 

It was just past eight in the morning when he slipped through the glass paned front door and into the gilded display room; early enough to avoid being seen on the streets by anyone Ma might know. For all she preached against sloth and idleness, her crowd rarely got up before nine.

He snatched up the first foil-wrapped sweet he saw, with no time to be choosy or wonder if this or that would be better received. After nineteen years, he’d learned that particular luxury wasn’t afforded to people like him.

“Good morning.” a warm voice murmured behind his back, just as he stuffed his ill-gotten prize into his left pocket.

Credence spun around, assuming precisely the gaze of a hare when it stares down the barrel of a hunter’s gun, but the dark haired woman by the shelves didn’t seem threatening, only…

“Can I help you with anything?”

He swallowed with some difficulty; sweat beading on the back of his neck.

“Um, I – I was looking for Miss Goldstein – “

It was a hurried, flimsy lie, and his panic only increased when she replied with a calm smile.

“Bat’s in the kitchen – I’m the other Miss Goldstein. Call me Tina?”

He didn’t answer, only stood trembling in the middle of the black and white tiled floor and wondered if she’d give his mother suggestions for his punishment or let her deal with it by herself.

“You sure there’s nothing I can interest you in?” She walked over to the tray of gold wrapped candy, and Credence thought his heart might punch a hole straight through his chest.

“One of these maybe? It’s on me.”

“I- I can’t - “ he began, shaking, before fear seized him entirely and he ran back out the door and into the street.

 

Modesty didn’t smile when he slipped the truffle into her palm under the table at breakfast, but she leaned her head against his shoulder while he read her the usual nighttime bible story, and he supposed that was enough.

 

*

 

The trouble with small towns of course, was that word spread quickly. It was always the same; the sideways glances, the whispering.

Bathsheba had learned to ignore it, but just because the pain had been dulled hardly meant it wasn’t ready to flare back up at the first harsh word, or one of the leers that she had quickly become accustomed to as soon as she first sprouted some evidence of womanhood. 

To the minds of most men, Jewish girls were fair game.

Her heels clicked rapidly on the pavement, her mother’s shopping basket clutched in front of her like a shield, and she was on the verge of throwing caution to the winds and getting home the quick way, secrecy be darned. Her resolve barely held up until she was across the street from the shop front, when a soft noise crept from one of the nearby alleys. 

She’d forgotten what good hiding places they were. Empty crates and garbage cans forming a sort of playground, if you didn’t mind the smell, and they could become a decent wall to keep you safe from whoever you were desperate to avoid.

The little girl – the little blonde girl with the grey dress and skinned knee – was huddled behind a stack of moldering newspapers.She had knotted a few scraps of stained cloth around a stick, and occasionally twirled it with her fingers, upright on the pavement like a top, so that the rags flared out like a rather dirty, threadbare skirt.

She was so engrossed by the pitiful little toy that Bathsheba’s arrival went unnoticed, until she had crouched down beside her in the alley.

“ Hi…” She murmured carefully.

The child startled, before scrambling to her feet, every speck of color fading from her tiny, pinched face.

“Isn’t it cold out here?” Bathsheba tried, noticing her blue fingers with some concern. There was still no reply, only wide, almost terrified eyes. 

“Why don’t I make us some tea to warm up? And this morning’s cookies should be cool enough to eat by now –“ She nodded towards the end of the alleyway, were the storefront was just visible between two grey brick walls, but a muffled whimper interrupted her.

“M-Ma says I’m not allowed.” The little girl mumbled, the sheaves of paper clutched in her freezing hands crinkling as she tightened her grip. Flyers, Bathsheba realized belatedly, as she twisted her neck to try and read the upside down letters.

Horribly familiar words jumped out at her – _disguise, depravity, parasite upon civilization_ – and she swallowed with difficulty. 

Evidently the child’s mother, whoever she was, hadn’t wasted time making sure the community was alerted.

“Oh… alright then.”

She rose, turning to leave and wishing with all her considerable might that the ground would open and devour her whole, when the girl chirped behind her suddenly.

“But – she didn’t say I couldn’t come for just a _little_ while…”

The invisible grip around Bathsheba’s throat seemed to ease slightly, and the two shared a gentle smile.

 

*

 

After several days of waiting for the skinny boy with fragile eyes to reappear, Tina’s patience finally ran dry.

While she was able to get a name from a general description, the shop’s slowly growing clientele proved rather unhelpful otherwise.

“The Barebones? They keep themselves to themselves…”

“-the mother came from Massachusetts, I heard –“

“- good Christians –“

Tina remained ill at ease. Credence – if that was his name – hadn’t seemed the type to become light fingered on impulse, and the pure fear she’d seen on his face when she’d nearly caught him out provided further cause for concern. Young men didn’t become terrified when discovered in the middle of wrong-doing, however petty – they got embarrassed or attempted to sweet-talk her to hide their embarrassment.

 

It was six in the evening when she found herself in front of the modest townhouse, an orange syrup truffle in her coat pocket, and considered if she might simply be making things worse. Still, it was too late to turn back now.

Bat said that was her excuse for every impulsive scheme, and perhaps she was right.

Bypassing the front door on a gut feeling, she eventually found a small service entrance surrounded with dead ivy and knocked carefully. Something shifted behind the smeary windows, before the door creaked open excruciatingly, revealing a boy’s too thin face.

He didn’t meet her eyes, staring at the smooth gravel under her blue leather pumps. A muscle twitched unpleasantly in his cheek.

“W-what d’you want?”

“It’s Credence isn’t it?” she pressed gingerly, not wishing to spook him any further.

He didn’t reply immediately, every inch of his body obviously on high alert.

“You – you can’t be here.”

“I thought I’d bring this over, after you forgot it yesterday.” She continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, offering the gold-wrapped candy with her fingertips.

“Why don’t you give it a taste, tell me if you think it needs more orange rind?”

He swallowed with difficulty, and his gaze finally met her own.

“…Why are you here?” he all-but whimpered.

All of Tina’s worst suspicions were confirmed with that frightened little question, and how clearly the boy seemed to consider kindness a foreign concept.

“You looked like you needed a friend.”

She gently placed the truffle on his palm – noting the white scar tissue with a surge of nausea - and curled his fingers around it.

“Come by whenever you feel ready. We’ll keep our door open.”

Tina walked away slowly, hands in her coat pockets, but if she had remained a moment longer she might have seen the boy raise the chocolate to his mouth and breathe in the scent like a heady perfume.

 

*

 

With another enormous bite that she would have been pinched for at home, thick ganache seeped from the little choux swan and formed rivers around Modesty’s thin lips. 

One visit had turned into three, then six, until she’d lost the look of a wax doll and finally began to smile and turn pink like a little girl.

Jacob shot her a grin from across the counter as he piped in the last of the filling, and dusted powdered sugar over the flakey golden pastry, pulled upright to resemble wings.

Queenie (she’d bitten her lip and glowed when he’d first dubbed her that, and it had caught on ever since) had offered him the baking position on his second arrival at the shop. While he’d certainly jumped at the opportunity to toss Cotswald’s Canned Foods to the curb in exchange for pursuing a lifelong passion, Jacob would have been lying if the chance to see her every day, fluttering around the copper molds and pots with her satin heels and bouncing honey-colored ringlets like some kind of confectionary butterfly… well, that was what they called a perk of the job. One that paid dividends, as it turned out - his face still turned hot and something wriggled in his chest when he remembered how she’d bussed him sweetly on the cheek that first time, while he was frosting the creme buche.

The temptation to never wash away her lipstick mark had been strong.

 

Mo had agreed with an eager nod to work for job satisfaction as Jacob’s pastry sampler, and stuffing her with cakes and cookies became a highlight of his day. Her twisted excuse for a mother didn’t seem to mind or even notice as long as those disgusting pamphlets never came home with her, and Jacob was happy to make certain they went to a place they’d certainly be appreciated; specifically, fueling the hotplates on the stove.

He’d genuinely believed all that sort of thing would have died out after the war, but apparently evil never died - it only found a rock to crawl under.

The vitriol and fear mongering had brought back a few less than pleasant memories, ugly names being hurled by the blond, blue-eyed kids from the boarding schools in Warsaw.

With wide-eyed innocence, Mo had asked him in the early days if he was a polack, “like Ma said,” and he’d replied, a rock in his gut, that he preferred to be called Mr. Kowalski. That was easy enough for a seven year old to accept. 

The war wasn’t something the Goldsteins talked about, but he assumed that they’d been some of the luckier ones, like he and his grandparents - the ones who managed to get out early, when it had become fairly obvious what was going to happen. Even so, they never talked about the all the photographs of a kind-looking man and woman with their arms around two little girls, so… perhaps not so lucky, after all.

There were days, of course, when Jacob would have liked to march down to that cold looking house and give Mary-Lou Barebone a piping hot piece of his mind, but what good would it do, with her feet well and truly under the mayor’s table… 

 

“Gimme a hand, honey?” a familiar candy-sweet voice interrupted his rumination, while Queenie balanced precariously on the little wooden step stool, placing the finishing touches inside the window display. 

Sighing, Jacob planted a foot on the lowest level, putting a stop to the constant teetering.

“Wish you wouldn’t climb that thing in those shoes, Angel, it’s askin’ for trouble.”

“You can’t ask a fish not to swim.” Tina called from the corner, prompting a giggle from Modesty. 

She slid off the miles-high counter stool to land neatly on her stocking-feet - those hateful too-tight shoes tossed beside the door like rubbish - and trotted over to the enormous picture window, where Miss Queenie was setting out the last of a family of little white chocolate goslings. Their mother sat at the center of the gaggle on her nest of sugar wafers, warming a bakers’ dozen of creme-filled eggs tightly wrapped in gold and silver paper.

“I thought maybe a pirate ship next week? With mermaids sunning on rocks?” Miss Queenie chirped, flashing a grin over one of her bare shoulders, and Modesty responded with a silent but eager nod. 

The sisters had taken to reading aloud in turns from a big leather-bound book during the two hours set aside for resting in the afternoon. Work breaks were an alien concept where Modesty was concerned, right alongside eating in the middle of the day, and while they wouldn’t let her see the pictures for some reason (“You wanna try explaining _that_ , be my guest.” Miss Tina had hissed to her sister when she thought Mo wasn’t listening) the story was exciting enough on it’s own; buried treasure and sailing ships, and a man who could turn into a parrot, which Mr. Kowalski had explained was a kind of big, colorful bird that could talk. She’d smirked when he said it - as if anyone could believe that.

Miss Queenie was handed down from the stool like a princess from a coach, or at least that was how Modesty imagined they’d look in the stories she’d been told over the past few weeks, between customers. Fluffy crinolines rustled under a flower printed sundress, and Mr. Kowalski even pecked her hand with a featherlight kiss, which made her laugh and flick his nose playfully.

“Don’t go charmin’ me now, I gotta start the filling for the nougat frogs!”

Modesty had been on the verge of following her when she trotted towards the kitchen, but a shadow abruptly cut through the warm sunlight pouring into the shop through the open door, and she went numb.

She’d forgotten. It was the first of the month, and that meant Ma would be going to the Christian Family League down the street… A buzzing noise filled her head like flies, and she wondered if seeing spots meant you were going to faint.

 

“Modesty…” Ma sighed, in that strange tone of voice, as if she were disappointed. Maybe it was true, she always seemed so surprised when her daughter was disobedient. Unlike the other one.

 

The room was very quiet, until Tina spoke.

“We’re the ones the blame, obviously. Call it whatever you like - corruption by cocoa?”

“And next week it will be the Talmud, am I right?” Mrs. Barebone replied calmly. “Unfortunate - I thought you people would have learned your lesson fifteen years ago.” 

Queenie gasped, her eyes flooding with tears, and Tina fought the urge to charge with her fingernails outstretched. 

“Have we broken any laws?” she asked instead, her teeth gritted. “Are we hurting anyone?”

“I’ve only informed this community of the truth, which they deserve to know. They were warned about the danger to their children; I suppose the proof is in front of me, thank Jesus I arrived in time. As for you and your cocoa, this place will be closed down within a month and you can slither back to whatever filthy hovel you crawled out of.Modesty, come with me.”

 

“I… I don’t want to, Ma.” she whispered, and something like pride cut through Tina’s fury, for those tiny words that would have been unspectacular to anyone else but for that one child, must have carried the weight of the earth. 

 

“ _Now._ ” Mrs. Barebone never raised her voice once, and somehow it was worse than if she were screaming.

 

Her chin wobbling, Modesty crossed the tiled floor in slump-shouldered defeat, whimpering quietly as her mother seized the back of her collar and led her back into the street, not even sparing her the time to pick up her shoes from the doorway.

 

“Are you really proud’a yourself?!” Jacob finally shouted after her, woken from his shocked daze. “You really think that’s what’s good for her?!”

 

Mrs. Barebone turned her head, flashing an icy stare.

 

“I don’t believe that’s for a polack to decide, and certainly not two k-“

 

He slammed the door shut before she could finish.

 

Queenie was trembling by the kitchen door, still crying silently ever since that first, unforgivable statement. Finally she ran for the staircase to the apartment above, a few choking sobs managing to escape. Her sister followed after a moment, more slowly, her own eyes wet.

Jacob was left standing unhappily at the center of the shop, watching the chandelier sway gently, and wanting nothing more than to dash after his honey-sweet girl and kiss the tears away. Something, however, told him this was a moment when they needed each other first, which he had no right to disturb.

 

He’d begun twisting the corner of his apron, trying not to eavesdrop on the soft voices drifting down through the thin ceiling plaster, when someone knocked a bit frantically on the shuttered door.

 

With painful hesitance, Jacob pulled back the latch and opened the door a crack, only to find a gangly man about his own age, ruddy-haired and covered in freckles, and clutching what appeared to be, after a double take, a small green turtle.

 

“So sorry to bother you, but he’s stopped eating his cornmeal - I think he has a cold - and the grocer’s shut up; could you spare some fruit or berries, it might tempt him-“

 

“Oh, uh - sure, sure, uh, apples ok?” Jacob stammered, allowing the stranger and his… companion inside, and hoping the girls wouldn’t be too irritated with his allowing a reptile on the premises. 

 

“Absolutely, provided the seeds are removed - cyanide, you know.”

 

Nodding, a bit wide-eyed, he cored one of the left-over fruits from that morning’s chocolate apple tarts and began dicing it, watching the new arrival stroking the turtle’s shell and muttering concernedly to it.

 

“We’ll have you right as rain in a jiffy, Pick, but first thing’s first, you have to get something down you - now don’t give me that look, we both know this is because of last Wednesday, isn’t it?-“

“I, um -“ Jacob interrupted, somewhat hesitantly. “I hope I cut ‘em up small enough, can I… can I get you anythin’, mister…?”

 

“Oh, no… thank you…” He accepted the saucer of apple bits with a quick nod and offered them to the strangely petulant looking turtle, before seeming to realize that a query had been left unanswered.

 

“Oh, call me Newt.”

 

 

*

 

 

It was just a little after midnight when something shattered downstairs, something made of glass, and woke Tina up with an unpleasant start. 

Queenie mumbled discontentedly as she was shaken out of a restless sleep, but pulled herself into consciousness when her sister began to creep down to the shop floor, clutching a slender length of oak as if it were an extension of her arm - and after so many years, it almost was.

 

The offending article turned out to be a loose cobblestone, and for a moment Tina’s heart jumped into her mouth - but there were no threats tied on with box string, no epithets painted on the side. In fact, it appeared only to have been thrown through the door window, to allow a pair of too-thin, shivering figures to reach the doorknob and stumble inside.

 

Modesty was clutching at Credence like a lifeline, her pale blonde hair spilling ghost-like onto the shoulders of her coarse linen nightgown, and Queenie barely managed to stifle a horrified cry when she noticed the bloody footprints being left in the child’s wake.

 

“Sh-she tried to stop him taking me, but we pushed her into the bedroom an’ locked her door- she started yelling again, so I blocked the keyhole up with newspaper -“ she was babbling a little hysterically, one odd situation arising in her story after another.

Her brother just mumbled beside her, his head beginning to sag.

“-and then - and then - she was so _mad_ , I - so I pulled the belt out of her hands and tossed it in the fireplace, but that just made her -“

 

Credence finally crumpled to the floor, moaning, just as Tina hesitantly touched his shoulder, and Modesty cut off her frantic ramble with a piercing scream. 

 

“Bat- just get her upstairs - go-“ Tina ordered, tugging him upright to lean on her shoulder, and fighting back lightheadedness when the hand that had been bracing his shoulders came away bloodstained.

 

Queenie already had Modesty - still wide-eyed and shrieking - wrapped up in her own wadded robe, and carried her up to their bedroom.

 

It wasn’t until they had washed the lashes on his back - several bruises carrying the unmistakeable outline of a belt buckle - and tucked him in beside his sister, now quieted by a drugged sleep, that Credence finally spoke.

 

“She doesn’t mean to lie,” he whispered softly, while Tina petted his hair back. “I think… I think sometimes she chooses to forget what really happened.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely Ondine!Colin as Percy, so enjoy that image.

 

Mrs. Barebone put up very little fight to regain her children. 

Credence's shockingly brief interview with the local law enforcement confirmed that he was in fact twenty years old instead of the more helpless sixteen that Mary-Lou had insisted upon, and Modesty’s “rescue” from a destitute family of twelve had it’s wheels oiled by the local bureaucracy in exchange for what were listed as charitable donations, and might be more correctly termed “purchase.”

When her birth family proved impossible to trace, the question of a new adoptive family was inevitable. Queenie had jumped up from her seat opposite the visiting attorney in indignation after being gently informed that her application was not up for consideration as she remained unmarried - prompting a hicc-cough from Jacob in the corner. His voice had cracked baby-high when he finally managed to ask the question, all five pairs of eyes locked on him.

 

The result was an antique engagement ring on Queenie’s finger, a matching lovesick grin shared between she and Jacob almost perpetually, yellow and white checked sundresses for Modesty and blue ribbons in her hair as she pretended to be a mermaid threatened by buccaneers in the back garden, and plenty of cherry torte for all.

 

And time passed…

 

*

 

 

The caramel brittle splintered apart in his fingers like pieces of amber-colored glass, and Credence curled his lips to hide a smile as, out in the shop, Tina pressed Newt with another question about humane ways to trap mice.

There hadn't been so much as a hint of a mouse in the kitchen for nearly two months; this was nothing more than a poorly disguised attempt to stall their regular Wednesday morning customer for a few minutes longer, after his usual purchase of a single chocolate cigarello and three apple and strawberry tarts - which Tina rose at dawn to make fresh every Wednesday morning, as Credence knew for a fact.

He couldn’t help the smirk which finally broke free as he sprinkled the candy shards overtop of the mint flavored buttercream, pooled at the top of a dark chocolate cake.

“And what’s got you so perky this morning?” Tina groused, playfully ruffling his hair as she slipped back into the kitchen, tying her dark blue apron back on.

He briefly relished the sensation of his curls resettling into their usual soft waves down his neck (for all that he’d once been told it was a deadly sin, vanity had become something of a personal pleasure) and didn’t bother to hide his self-satisfaction.

“Just thinking… maybe if certain people could talk about something other thanhouse pets for a little while, we could have a double wedding instead.”

“Quiet - you’ll be giving your sister _and_ mine ideas.” she chuckled, setting a fresh pot of cream to heat on the stove. Credence noticed, a bit smugly, that there was no longer any attempt at denial.

Admittedly, she had a point - with the both of them pouring through _Brides & Setting Up Home _at every spare moment, both Modesty and her mother-to-be seemed to have entered a kind of fervor that could become infectious if one wasn’t careful.

Modesty in particular had been seized by the excitement quite hard, and Credence could only assume, with delight colored by wistfulness, that it was the pure novelty of the situation, and the idea that anyone could be beautiful and happy if they liked.

His own mindset had undeniably improved over the past few months, but some days were still a struggle. It did, after all, take time to heal two decades of misery - but he preferred not to think about that if he could help it. Better to focus on the here and now, where he was creating beautiful things that smelled and tasted so good - and better yet, he had a _talent_ for it…

“What about you, hm?” Tina asked a bit cheekily, providing a welcome interruption to his train of thought. “Anyone caught your eye?”

 

He always thought, afterward, how odd it was that it all happened precisely at that moment, but then, fate had always been a mischievous thing.

 

Modesty’s bare feet were speckled with mud and bits of water grass as she burst through the kitchen door, evidence she’d been playing by the river again, but before he could say a word in greeting she began crying out eagerly, almost jumping in place.

“They’re here! They’re really here-!”

“Calm down Mo, who’s here?”

Her eyes sparkled, her little round face flushed pink from excitement.

“Pirates!”

 

*

 

The boats were still docking when they arrived at the riverbank, Modesty tugging Credence along by the wrist.

Several mothers in sensible black shoes were dragging their protesting children back towards the safety of the main street, huffing slightly with upturned noses when they noticed the Barebones.

Credence lowered his eyes and tried not to let it bother him too much. He'd spent most of his life being told he was damned, anyway.

Several of the men had got small fires going, iron kettles and pots set to boil over the flames and some delicious, strange scents wafted over the shoreline. Barefoot children in warm sweaters chased each other around the tree trunks until their parents called them over to help in unloading. Somewhere nearby, a guitar was being played.

It took a few moments for them to notice the visitors, and gradually all the activity paused. Credence recognized the look on some of the youngest children’s faces; a fear of being kicked like stray dogs, and he nudged Modesty forward gently.

She held out her basket of foil wrapped pralines like a peace offering, until one or two of the braver children crept forward, slowly followed by the rest.

A collective breath seemed to be released as the candies were devoured greedily, some of the youngest girls flashing them adorable, chocolate-coated smiles.

As the proceedings picked up again, Modesty beckoned him down, nodding towards the boats tethered by the bank.

Through the smoke and distortion of heat from the fire pits, Credence was just able to spot a man seated on the foredeck of the largest vessel, plucking out a steady tune on a silver guitar so old the metal had begun to turn blue. Dark hair beginning to streak with grey tumbled over the shoulders of an old leather jacket, the sunlight catching on a flash of gold around his neck.

 

“D’you think he’s the captain?” Modesty whispered into Credence’s ear, but before he could reply she had scampered down the dock and began attempting to climb on board.

“Mo, don’t-!” he exclaimed, a little mortified, rushing after her. He’d just pulled her off the side of the boat when he realized that the music had stopped.

“‘Sorry.” he mumbled to the stranger, his ears burning and eyes fixed on the wooden slats underfoot.

“Let me do the apologizing. For all of us.” 

Credence had never heard a voice like it, rich as Tina’s best ganache with the song-like undertone that all these river-people seemed to have.

He felt shy suddenly, shy but daring in the strangest way possible.

“For what?”

“Whatever it is you’re here to accuse us of.”

Credence frowned.

“Why would I do that?”

The man smiled a bit sardonically.

“Because river rats like us are the mud off society's shoes, aren’t we? With foul diseases and criminal instincts, hm?”

His tone was so far removed from serious that Credence couldn’t help a quiet laugh.

“But that isn’t true, is it?”

“It’s what townsfolk always seem to believe.”

Credence shrugged.

“Maybe I’m not most townsfolk?”

“Well, well… what d’you want then? Come t’save us?” he asked, obviously teasing the boy now and not bothering to hide a widening grin.

“Local family league, religious welfare, socialist group - which idea have y’come to sell?”

“Chocolate!” Modesty piped up, holding out a handful of pralines.

He blinked, in what seemed to be genuine surprise.

“Sorry, chocolate?”

“What’s a river rat?” she pressed him, playing with a strand of her loose hair. “Is it like a pirate?”

Credence bit back a giggle as the stranger seemed ponder this with an odd expression.

“You could say that, sure.” He stood up with a cat-like grace, evidently used to life afloat, and pulled the guitar strap from over his head. Muscle stretched under leather and wool, and Credence felt something tingle low in his belly. 

“No treasure chest at the moment, but I’m sure t’find something eventually, eh love?”

Modesty smiled.

His eyes - dark and risky to gaze at for too long - turned back to Credence, and even if his sister didn’t notice the way he’d begun to turn pink over the past few moments, this man with the bewitching voice and long hair scented like fresh grass after a short spring rainstorm… well, he certainly did, and his mouth quirked up knowingly.

Credence darkened even further.

“Will we be seeing you again?”

For a moment Credence floundered, unsure how to respond - new acquaintances were still something of a risk to him, and… 

Suddenly Modesty squeezed his hand, her little body going stiff and rigid, and he glanced back towards the shore. 

A too-familiar figure stood on the path back to the main street, radiating disgust and disapproval as she primly clutched her handbag.

Long-remembered terror faded quickly into indignation, while Credence petted Modesty’s whitened knuckles with his thumb, and he felt an immediate surge of satisfaction when he realized there wasn't a thing that vile woman could do to make him obey any longer.

“O-of course.” he mumbled, his confidence under her gaze still as weak as a insect's wing, but at least it existed at all. “As soon as we can.”

The man nodded. “Ask for Percival. No last names here.”

It was just when Credence had turned towards the bank, leading Modesty by the hand, when he called after them a last time.

“I should warn you - make friends of us - me - and y’make enemies of others.”

Credence felt a smug grin uncurl across his face, and replied with an audacity he didn’t know he possessed.

“Is that a promise?”

He trudged back up the hill, looking over his shoulder once, and much too far away to hear the murmured answer.

“It’s a guarantee.”

 

 

*

 

“So - how can ya tell when the dough’s ready for proving?”

 

There was no answer, just the steady, soft thump as Credence went on kneading, his eyes a bit hazy and attention clearly focused elsewhere.

 

Jacob set down his wooden spoon with a fondly exasperated sigh, before waving a cocoa dusted hand across the work table.

 

“Hey there - thought we were having a quiz?”

 

Credence jumped.

 

“Oh! You, um… you stretch the dough until it’s thin enough to see the light through, but doesn’t break apart.”

 

“Great - you’re doin’ great.”

 

He smiled shyly at the praise, and continued pounding the doughnut mixture, while Jacob eyed him with a bit of suspicion.

 

The kid had been acting a little odd for days now - clearly distracted by something. He’d nearly put orange flower water in the coffee eclairs.Jacob had wondered, at first,if it hadn’t been the sudden surging reminders of Mary-Lou’s presence following her declaration that the newcomers were going to eat the town’s children whole during the night.

Well, not exactly in those words, but Jacob had enough of an understanding of her methods to draw his own conclusions.

Unfortunately, the community had been well-trained to fall into line upon Mrs. Barebone’s every order.

The first leaflets appeared almost overnight; within a week every store front, lamp post, and house door had been smeared with the words _Resist Godlessness_ or _Combat Depravity_ or, abandoning subtlety altogether, _No Irish Admitted._ A united front against the latest common enemy. 

 

However, Jacob’s theory were Credence was concerned had taken a very different turn one early morning, when he’d come down to the kitchen to fetch Queenie a glass of milk (there was nothing wrong with their sleeping arrangements, he’d told himself a million times after the first night. They were just… having rehearsals before the big day, was all.) 

The door had creaked a bit when he slipped inside, and the startled gasp from Credence in the corner, feeding bedsheets into the old Maytag, had nearly sent Jacob into a premature coronary. 

 

Granted, he hadn’t given it much thought at the time (too busy trying to peel himself off the back wall) but when taken as a whole, absent-mindedness and laundry at an unusual hour seemed to add up to one particular conclusion.

 

Jacob grinned to himself as he dipped the latest batch of freshly risen pastry into the oil pot, and wondered who the girl might be.

 

 

*

 

 

When it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to slip back to the riverbank for several days, worry began gnawing at Credence like a starved rat. With the local attitudes being what they were, it was entirely possible that they would pull up their anchors and leave, and Credence couldn’t blame them.

 

Fate however, chose to intervene yet again, and one fog-laden morning, while arranging Queenie’s latest spectacular window display - Botticelli’s Venus carved from milk chocolate - he spotted a familiar figure on the side street by the shop.

 

A few men were on the streets already, heading to work, and Percival stood out among them like a lion surrounded by squawking crows, barely constrained power and sensuality gentled by the small girl he carried.

 

Something twinged in Credence’s chest.

 

Others noticed their unorthodox appearance as well - how could they not - and the presence of a child didn’t stop a passerby from spitting at his feet.

He ignored the abuse with a practiced indifference that Credence recognized all too easily, and without giving more than a second’s thought to the matter he jumped down from the wobbling stool and waved them over from the doorway.

 

“Hello again…”

 

People were starting to whisper nearby, the noise buzzing in the air like a cloud of flies.

 

“You’re out kind of early - everything alright?”

 

Something like bewilderment crossed Percival’s face, as if it were incomprehensible that someone might express concern for he and his brethren.

 

“Just tryin’ t’get her some lemon and ginger - and most places’ve been… less than welcoming.”

 

“Mm - I’ve got a better idea, c’mon.” Credence murmured. The whispers increased as he transferred the little girl to a perch on his hip, careful of the braces on her legs, and carried her inside before Percival could object.

 

“Don’t mind him too much -“ she said primly as she was settled on one of the counter stools, and Credence began pouring out a coca cola from Jacob’s newly delivered soda tap.

“- he panics if I even sniffle.”

 

The twinge worsened as Credence slid the glass across the countertop, bubbles fizzing, while Percival brushed a few strands of the girl’s smooth brown hair from her face. 

He hadn’t exactly considered the possibility that there might be a family attached to the man, but couldn’t explain why the thought made him feel so… hollow. 

“Just, um… just take it in small sips, too much at once could make you feel worse.”

Suddenly eager for distraction, he turned his attention to the copper pot on the small corner stove. The fresh cream had been heating for several minutes, spreading in thick ripples to the sides of the pot as he broke apart several chocolate slabs with a brittle snap, and added them in by the handful.

“Lived here long?” Percival asked abruptly, a calloused thumb brushing over his lips. 

Multiple rings were glinting on his knuckles but nothing to directly suggest a wife…

Credence swallowed uncomfortably.

“Well, um… I’ve just been working here a few months, after… after I left home.”

“An’ the girl?”

He shrugged, eyes firmly downcast.

“My sister, she… she needed looking after.”

As if summoned, Modesty came down the stairs in her sky blue pajamas, tousled from sleep and mid-yawn. She noticed the other little girl at the counter-side almost instantly, and her eyes brightened, the both of them sharing a grin along with the instant camaraderie that children seemed to find so easy.

Pushing her half-empty soda glass away, Percival’s small companion made an impatient gesture. With a sigh and an exasperated smile, he guided her off the stool until she was able to scamper to join Modesty in the corner. A metal joint on one of her braces squeaked.

“Not too long, Maire -“

She huffed, though good-naturedly, and soon both of them were giggling and chattering about god-knew what.

Something wistful came over Credence like the fog outside; of course Modesty deserved every happy moment she could find, and he’d learned to put away regret years ago, but at times it was still difficult not to mourn the childhood he’d been denied.

“She seems sweet.” he finally managed.

“Too smart for her own good, rather - so much time by herself when she was small, it gave her a wild imagination.” 

“But- didn’t her mother -“

“Nah, half of us got hit with polio back several years ago - Maire pulled through, praise the Lord, her ma wasn’t so lucky… we thought it’d be better to share a child among all of us than leave her with no-one.”

 

A sudden, elating relief spread through Credence’s insides, leaving him a bit giddy.

 

“Then- then she’s not… you’re not…”

Something like amusement mingled with sympathy crossed Percival’s weathered face.

“Like y’said - she needed looking after.”

 

They didn’t stay long, not eager to be seen when the regular customers began to arrive, but Modesty and her new playmate seemed well on the way to inseparable and Credence suspected - and perhaps hoped, fervently - that they might find their way back the next day.

 

Percival’s farewell smile seemed to promise as much.

 

With the hot chocolate perfectly seasoned, at long last, Credence set the pot back over the flame and tried to conceal an involuntary grin, that delightful tingling spreading once again underneath his skin.

It wasn’t until he turned to follow Modesty into the kitchen, the tantalizing scent of fresh raisin bread wafting from the oven, that he noticed Queenie, half hidden in shadow near the dish shelves. 

An immediate panic seized him, as he wondered frantically how long she had been standing there, how much she had seen, if what he’d only begun to suspect himself was obvious to her…

Her face was impassive as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

 

“His favorite’s the cinnamon-whiskey clusters. Trust me.”

 

*

 

They held the wedding in the garden, two weeks later, once the violet beds had blossomed and turned towards the sun.

It was a small gathering - only family and those friends who were family - and for all Queenie’s excitement the only decoration was the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the boughs of each tree.

“… let us know and understand, today and hereafter, that love knows no face, no creed, no nation.” the school teacher concluded the service, his hands folded around an unopened black book. His blue eyes seemed to shine.

From his place near the flowerbeds, Credence swallowed a lump in his throat. Had anyone noticed, they might have thought how sweet it was, that he had been so moved, but their assumption would have been incorrect.

“It is the wisest among us who allow themselves to welcome that rarest and most beautiful emotion, their hearts and minds opened freely. The two of you have shared a thousand kisses - perhaps more - but at this time and in this place, you share not only your affection and your love with a kiss, but a life-long wisdom that many of us may only dream of. You see before you that person with who you will share your home, your table, and your children; the first you will see every morning and the last you will hold at night. That, my friends, is love - and it lives within us all.”

 

Applause rang across the small garden as the bride and groom embraced, Jacob smoothing back Queenie’s little dotted-swiss veil to meet her lips.

 

They ate their wedding dinner picnic-style, watercress sandwiches and skewered fruits laid out on the few precious china platters the Goldsteins owned, while a golden loaf of _korovai_ towered at the center of the bridal table, trimmed with little shoes, owls, and pinecones made of fresh pastry.

 

His well-wishes offered, Credence settled himself at the outskirts of the gathering with only a glass of lemonade and his own thoughts.

 

He’d genuinely been looking forward to that day, caught somewhere between his own child-like excitement, and curiosity at the novelty of it all. 

 

Modesty ran past with several other small girls, their white lace socks quickly becoming grass-stained, while Tina, a tender expression on her face, listened to Newt rambling quietly as he petted a black guinea pig that had ridden along in his lapel pocket.

 

Credence bit his lip.

 

What he hadn’t anticipated at all was the realization of, despite the surge of kindnesses for which he would always be grateful, how many gaps remained in his own life.

 

“May I?” a dulcet voice inquired, and Credence glanced up to find the school teacher nodding pointedly towards the empty wrought iron chair.

 

“Oh - of course.”

 

Professor Dumbledore seemed also to have eschewed the more elaborate fare in favor of a white roll spread with jam. Some crumbs fell to the grass as he hitched up his trouser leg and took a seat.

“It’s Credence, isn’t it?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Forgive the intrusion, but few people remain at the sidelines on a happy occasion without some pressing reason. I assumed it was shyness at first, in your case, but after so many visits and so many raspberry truffles consumed by me, I don’t believe that’s the reason?”

 

Credence hesitated. The question was unexpected to say the least, but for all the easy explanations that came instantly to mind, he found he didn’t want to lie - to this man in particular.

 

“Have…” he began, carefully, not quite sure of his own thoughts yet. “Have you ever felt as though life’s betrayed you, somehow?”

 

The professor quirked his lip in a manner that seemed at once humorous and wistful.

 

“I could elucidate precisely forty-seven examples of that concept - but not knowing the intimate particulars of your own life and not particularly wishing to, I couldn’t comment specifically… but…” he paused. “You don’t regret leaving behind Mrs. Barebone, surely?”

 

“No! No, of course not, but -“ he gathered up his still weak courage. “… do you remember when she tried to have you removed from the teaching board, for… for…?”

 

Sudden understanding came to Dumbledore’s lively blue eyes.

 

“Ah… well, it’s not the sort of thing one forgets easily, is it? But if I understand you correctly…” he trailed off, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

A blush coloring his cheekbones, Credence nodded.

 

“In that case - I’ve always considered nature, in the course my own widespread study, to be a much more vast and forgiving abstraction than many might suspect; constructed more of fluid curves than rigid lines, you see?”

 

“But -“ Credence squirmed. “Isn’t life more… painful?”

 

“At times - it’s something that I suppose we must accept in this lifetime, and hope that a future generation may be more tolerant… but that’s not exactly what worries you, no? It’s the fear that you can’t, you _won’t_ be permitted to have what others have, because you’ve been assured so long that it’s unholy?”

Credence couldn’t meet his gaze.

 

“Then I would say this: I was a coward once, and it left me with only one companion in life; regret. Don’t let yourself wander down my path.”

 

Credence tried to reply, but a wave of the professor’s fingers silenced him.

 

“Show them all you’re ready to go down dancing.”

 

*

 

The sun had already long set before he was able to slip away, and in the middle of the dark all the cooking fires and candles lit at the river bank seemed otherworldly.

 

Credence huddled behind a half-dead tree, still uncertain.

 

Many of the travellers were aboard their own boats given the late hour, small children curled under patterned quilts on the main deck as they drifted to sleep; some of their parents however, seemed to enjoy the night for it’s own sake. One or two men had brought out instruments, and a gentle, velvet melody drifted across the shore. 

You could imagine the ripples had carried it, Credence realized, but a glance back at the little gathering made him quaver where he stood.

Percival met his eyes from his usual place at the head of the vessel, a tender half-smile crossing his face as he unstrapped his guitar and jumped down onto the bank, leaving Credence transfixed in his moss-scented hiding place until he stretched out a hand to the boy.

“Come with me.”

“But…” Credence protested weakly, his last defenses crumbling like sand.

Percival’s thumb caressed his scarred knuckles.

“C’mon.”

 

It shocked him, just a little, how seamlessly they blended into the few other couples swaying to the music, as if the sight of them together, of Percival nuzzling his cheek, featherlight, as if none of it mattered.

 

Credence held back a laugh at the thought.

 

When the music finally ended, he let himself be led towards the stern, down several wooden steps to a shallow cabin. Featherbeds and cushions covered every inch, forming a soft nest.

He could feel the thud of his heart all the way into his throat, and breathed as steadily as he could.

 

The fires disappeared on the bank, one at a time, until the only light came from a swaying lantern overhead.

Something tingling under every inch of his skin, Credence settled himself back against the warmth of Percival’s body, quaking fingers curling around one of his hands.

 

“…Hold me?” he whispered, his eyelids fluttering shut as a thumb brushed his chin, turning him slowly until they were face to face.

Fingers caressed his mouth gently, and before he could lean any closer Percival had drawn him in and followed his touch with his lips.

 

It was like that first taste of wine, or the feeling of new leather on his skin - Credence couldn’t imagine how he had survived so long without it, and how he was meant to go on. 

He clutched at him with both hands, curling around his neck and buried in his long hair, almost whimpering when they drifted apart.

 

“I’ll do better than that.” Percival answered him at last, and in moments Credence had been stripped of his clothing, quickly enough he would have thought it were sorcery if such things could possibly exist…

He must have been losing his mind, it would have been easy with Percival’s fingers tracing down the hollow of his spine, tracing over his tailbone and lower, lower… 

Shuddering, Credence pulled him flush to his body, heady all at once with the feeling of bare skin against his own.

For a moment, he wondered how lovely it might have been to give over a few moments to some exploration of his own, drinking in every inch of Percival’s hushing beauty, but just then it seemed so much more important to keep him as close as Credence could possibly manage. The slightest distance, and he would fall away to somewhere unknown.

He squirmed, gasping as a wandering touch brushed across his thigh, between his spread legs, into the small furrow where firm bones met the softest, most fragile parts of him.

Credence tried to gasp out a half-hearted warning, some leftover fear of damnation, but green eyes offered him a heated, adoring look, and any lingering dread melted away into pure need.

His lungs sucked in one breath, another, his hand latching tightly in his own black curls as Percival mouthed at his fluttering belly, two wet fingers delving inside him. Just when he was beginning to imagine that he could have relished that feeling for the rest of his life, something deep and hidden sent an exquisite sensation quivering along his nerves - speech was impossible, but he moaned brokenly, and it seemed to be what Percival had been waiting for. All at once their brows met, his gold pendant dragging along the arch of Credence’s throat.

And then… and then… _oh…_

*

 

 

It was impossible to tell how long had passed when Credence finally woke up in the warm little burrow, his naked body curled underneath a fur blanket.

He wondered at first if it had all been real, if he’d only dreamed it frantically and would be caught once again with dirty bedclothes, but no - the strangely delicious ache in his back and thighs reassured him that the night’s pastimes had been quite genuine.

They’d both grinned, inexplicably, drunk on pleasure and fondness for one another when Credence had turned Percival on his back and straddled his hips, reaching back to grip a firm thigh in each hand while he bounced and wriggled with an eagerness he hadn’t known was possible… the memory made him want to blush and giggle all at once.

 

Lips stroked across the back of his neck, his curls tickling the sensitive skin on his collarbone.

“You taste sweet…” Percival murmured against the shell of his ear, and he bit his lip with a smile, only to startle.

“Oh! I-I brought you something…” 

Reaching his discarded trousers was difficult, but he finally managed to drag the cinnamon dusted truffle from his pocket, and offered it on an outstretched palm, clutching the blanket to his chest with blushing shyness.

“… it’s your favorite.”

 

A gradual, teasing smile curled across Percival’s face as he plucked the sweet from Credence’s hands and caught him in a kiss, stealing every morsel of his flavor as he weighted him back into the cushions. 

 

“I don’t think I’ll miss it.”

 

 


End file.
